Time Travels with an Intergalactic Playboy
by GiraffeGirl
Summary: She doesn't want to keep revisiting the past... but what's left when she can't move forward?


Rose began writing to try and come to terms with what had happened. After he left her, she didn't know what to do with herself. Days seemed endless with little to interest her. Work barely filled the void left behind when he disappeared. She was saving the world, saving the universe, on an almost daily basis, but it didn't mean anything anymore. She had come to realise that it wasn't the adventures she'd loved, the battles and the enemies. It was him. All of that was wonderful, all the seeing the universe and the past and the future… but it was him that had made her stay.

The worst part was having no one to talk to. At the time, she'd loved being the only one, had always enjoyed herself more when it was just her and him. The old team. It had always been just them. No one else lasted the distance. Adam. Jack. Mickey. Sooner or later they left and it was just those two again, hand in hand. Now she wished someone had stayed; if Mickey had seen half the things she had… If her mum had talked to the people she had… She kept remembering something, and looking for someone to tell, so they could laugh and joke about the terrifying experience, safe in the knowledge of it being over. Only there was no one left to joke with. It was just her now.

Pete had seen her distress. The way she'd look up from dinner, with a fleeting smile on her face, words on the tip of her tongue. He'd seen the way she'd gazed round, her eyes lingering on everyone there for only a brief second before she realised he wasn't there. Then she'd turn back to her food and listlessly shovel it into her mouth again, not enjoying a single mouthful. He hated it. He'd met her just once before she'd moved in, but he could remember what she'd been like. Lively and energetic and full of excitement. Her eyes had sparkled, and she'd flashed a grin at everyone. He'd seen fear and pain in her face. Now there was nothing, just emptiness. And he hated it.

So one day he gave her a notebook and told her to write down everything that had happened to them. He thought it could help somehow. Rose had cast the book aside initially. She didn't want to look back and remember what she'd seen if she couldn't see it all again. She didn't want to live in the past like that. It wasn't how he was; it wasn't what he'd want her to do. But she couldn't move on.

It started as simple stories, detailing every adventure they'd been on. She didn't want to forget a single journey they'd taken. She talked of how they'd met, an ordinary shop-assistant and a Time Lord. She wrote of automatons and the Face of Boe. She described zombies in nineteenth-century Cardiff and Daleks in twenty-first century Utah. She detailed battles and time-travel. Then she reached the end, and put the notebook aside.

But it hadn't helped.

Pete found the notebook and read it. Even with all he'd seen, it went beyond anything he'd ever experienced. Looking at her now, this girl, his daughter, he began to understand more. She'd seen more than anyone could ever begin to imagine. It explained the nightmares in the night, and the hollow look in her eyes sometimes. A little girl, utterly lost in the world. The perfect story.

The letter she received surprised her. The publishers liked her story, but felt it lacked a soul. "We find it hard to believe in or care about the character of the Doctor, and there is no chemistry between him and Rose," they wrote. She didn't need to ask who had sent the notebook away; Pete's eyes gave him away. She never mentioned it again, but she kept the notebook and letter by her. For the time when she'd be ready.

One day, Rose Tyler sat down at her computer, and told the story of her life. She wrote of the adventures she'd taken and the man she knew. She wrote of chips and dancing. She described every smile he'd ever given her, and the way he'd made her feel. She told of the things he'd said to her.

"_Nice to meet you, Rose, I'm the Doctor. Run for your life!"_

"_I could save the world, but lose you."_

"_Just tell me you're sorry…"_

"_You were fantastic!"_

"_Rose Tyler…"_

She wrote of the man who had shown her the stars, but got her home before bed time. The man who had taken her hand and told her to run. The man who had seen the universe with tea in one hand and a banana in another. The man who she'd fallen for and killed for. The man who was the Doctor. Her Doctor. She wrote non-stop for days, her fingers flying across the keyboard. Several times her mum would come into her room, bringing a cup of tea or a plate of shepherds pie, which would lie untouched on her desk. She wrote like she was possessed.

And then she typed the last sentence and saved the document. Sitting back in her chair, she let go of the breath she'd been holding for what felt like forever. It was done. As she placed the manuscript in the post, she realised she didn't care what the publishers said; she had done what she had to do.

And it had helped.

Weeks later, she received a letter. She was sitting in the garden when she opened it, catching the last of the summer's rays. A whole season had passed since he'd left her. She read it quickly. They were going to publish it. That was all that mattered. The Doctor would exist, even if only in the minds of people. As she walked indoors to show Pete, she couldn't help smiling at the name change they'd made to it. _Time Travels with an Intergalactic Playboy_. He'd like that.


End file.
